Everything starts out so promisingly. The colourful Globe stage is draped completely in white. A white orb looming over the stage and Neil Armstrong and his wife argue about whether man should walk on the moon. They talk about man’s limitations and aspirations and Neil has got a proper space suit and everything. It’s beautifully surreal in its simplicity. When he’s finally up there Neil finds out that there is already a man/woman on the moon and a long, sustained “What just happened?” moment later the 2001: Space Odyssey look has given way to a colourful, glittering Disco, complete with dancers in golden leotards. The Jack Sparrow look-a-like ladyboy herald (Jonathan Chambers) will act as an MC and does his best to guide the audience through the somewhat patchy story.

Dionysus, son of Zeus, and his tribe of nymphish worshippers enter the city of Thebes, and with him comes a wave of debauchery that Pentheus, the ruler of Thebes, cannot tolerate. No music or dance is to be permitted and certainly no worshipping and crossdressing gender-bending self-fulfilment. Dionysus plans to take revenge on Pentheus who, he feels, denies him his rightful god status. There are lots of spells, disguises, and people getting turned into snakes – it all sounds like a pretty straightforward Greek tragedy to me. In Ché Walker’s and Arthur Darvill’s hands, however, the tragedy turns into a hot, glittery mess, and that is not always as exciting as it sounds. If unfamiliar with Euripides’ play, you might get a bit a lost as Dionysus prances around the stage like the Willy Wonka of wine and rhythmically trash-talks the militant Pentheus. Tommy Coleman gives a strong performance full of charisma as Dionysus, the smooth, ensnaring half-god.

The traditional myth is intercut with at least four more modern plays-in-a-play that illustrate how Bacchus’ spirit still impacts us today. In some way or another these stories are concerned with the different ways in which humans go to extremes or to which extended excellence impacts human relationships. A particularly well-exercised vignette, however, deals with a different side of obsessive behaviours, which has Globe regular Phil Cumbus and Harry Hepple pining away as hopeless heroin addicts.

Even though actor, drag queen and activist Bette Bourne gets to go down a somewhat unneccesarily sweary route in his portrayal of Teiresias, generally the writers’ joyous handle on language is fresh and entertaining. When the play time travels to a dressing room in 1959 in which Billie Holiday and Lester Young discuss their shared understanding of the universal world pain, we see the potential and problem of The Lightning Child wrapped into one. These two jazz idols and their harrowing demise stand in for one of the main motives of the piece: artistic excellence and the experience of pain are two sides of the same coin. Alas, the way this is wedged into the play does not create a poignant coda to the main story, but a confusing digression that loses most of the audience along the way. And sadly, the attempt to connect the importance of gender transgression in a meaningful way to the other parts of the play feels slightly awkward and forced.

So, structurally a bit of Aristotelian moderation would not have gone amiss in this three hour ride. When one of the characters says that “mortals need to accept their own limits”, we wish that the creators had embraced the limits a bit more to allow the Dionysian spirit to shine through clearly. Violence and ecstasy spike to unexpected heights in this celebration of all the contradictions of life. As quirky and unconventional adaptations go, this one is an absurd and flawed monster of a play that constantly swings between clever entertainment and self-indulgence.

The exceptional trumpet talent Alison Balsom was looking for a chance to perform at the Globe and to show off the more dulcet tones of the natural trumpet. The result is far less self-indulgent than one might expect, and highlights yet again the chutzpa of a theatre that dares to put fresh theatrical concepts in front of its audience.

The structure of Gabriel is deceptively simple: fictionalised slices of life from the 1690s, sometimes with historical people, come to life and are interspersed with music. The reign of Queen Mary is a contradictory period in the country’s history, full of pomp and artistic reinvention, but at the same time war-shaken and disease ridden. These contradictions are sewn into every fibre of the play: the characters, the overall structure of the play and, most prominently, the music.

Rather brilliantly (with only little shoehorning), all the stories relate in some form or another to Purcell’s trumpet music. Bawdy humour (lots of it!) and more serious tones alternate and link the regal stories of Queen Mary and her hydrocephalus nephew William with the fate of commoners such as John Shaw. He is one of the historical characters, and was the first one to play the instrument that back then was traditionally associated with military procedures in a more melodious and aesthetically pleasing way.

In the play, he is part of a company of players working for theatre owner Rich (Jason Baughan), who simply cuts his actor’s wages in half. Protests, hurt vanities and love triangles come to full bloom, and we find that performers in the 1690 had to struggle with the same hurdles back then as they do now. There are some other surprisingly modern motives touched upon throughout the production. Sam Cox’ entertainingly foul-mouthed waterman Taylor is a loving dig at the stereotypes of London cabbies but his story too, and like most of the others, it is subtly turned on its head.

So perfectly balanced is the play that its structure reflects on the unique sound of the natural trumpet and the change the perception of the instrument went through with the help of Purcell’s writing.

Jessie Buckley is a true revelation in her scenes as Arabella Hunt, the soprano singing at the Royal Court for Queen Mary (Charlotte Mills). Among men known only as cold and frigid, we learn about her past tragic marriage to another woman. As we follow her she finds fulfilment not in love, but in the quiet solace of music. Sarah Sweeney is Buckley’s counter part in this and after Don Juan at the Finborugh she continues to be an exciting presence in some of the more interesting and relevant productions in the past year.

Purcell is referred to, but only ever appears on stage through his music. With the help of this etherial presence, playwright Samuel Adamson has created a piece that is at once light and funny and at other times stark and touching. His writing style is inspired by the Purcellian semi-opera, but is dramatically unequally richer.

In essence, Gabriel is an inventive twist on the usually ghastly jukebox musical approach but here, with characters you actually care about. Together with The English Concert orchestra, Alison Balsom and music director Bill Barclay provide the captivating soundtrack for this rather unique piece. One can only hope that the Globe will keep up such courageous programming.

Here is the link to the programme page on the BBC website. It was part of a series of events and programmes Patrick Spottiswoode, Globe education director facilitated over a couple of years exploring the relationship of Germany and Shakespeare. Lyn Gardner wrote a lovely piece about the history of Germany’s fascination with Shakespeare and the Globe programme here.